That's How You Change the World
by geekymoviemom
Summary: Katniss tells Peeta a story. A short companion piece set following chapter 34 of By Your Side. This was originally written for the charity collection A Candle for the Caribbean, which raised over four thousand dollars to benefit islands devastated by Hurricane Maria in 2017. Part II of the What If series.


_**This one-shot was written as part of the charity collection A Candle for the Caribbean, which raised over $4000 to benefit the islands hit by Hurricane Maria last year. It takes place following chapter 34 of By Your Side. :)**_

 _ **A huge thank-you to pip117 and xerxia31 for betaing this work! :)**_

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I wake, shivering, in the dark of the night. Peeta is passed out cold, the morphling I shot into his arm nearly three hours ago keeping the worst of his pain at bay, at least for now. But it'll be all too soon before he wakes again, startling with the intensity of his agony before he remembers that moving makes it all that much worse.

Rubbing at the crick in my neck from sleeping on the hard kitchen chair, I adjust the blanket around my shoulders before leaning forward, tucking Peeta's blanket more securely under his hips. I'm trying to keep him as warm as I can without disturbing the open wounds covering most of his back.

Glancing at the lash marks that criss-cross the entirety of his broad, strong back, I quickly look away, still unable to stomach the full extent of his injuries. I press a light kiss to his hand, balled up into a fist near his face, then get to my feet, wobbling around the table to tend to the fire that's nearly gone out.

It takes several minutes for me to get the fire going; Peeta's always been the whiz with fires, not me. I look in the direction of the front door, trying to remember how much firewood is stacked under a tarp on the porch. It's still snowing outside, and from the harshness of the wind blowing, rattling the windows of the house, it's likely there won't be any electricity for several days. Even if it is Victor's Village, it's still District 12.

With the fire roaring back to life, I hold out my hands, trying to warm them near the bright orange flames that match the orange stones in my wedding ring.

Orange. Peeta's favorite color.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I swipe at my nose, trying to not let the tears fall from my already scratchy, puffy eyes. More tears won't help Peeta now. Just like my mother's tears did nothing for her when my father was killed. I remember her, curled up into a tight ball on her bed, sobbing for what seemed like days, until one day she simply cried herself out. That was the day her eyes took on that vacant, haunted look that nearly resulted in Prim and me starving to death.

 _Except, we didn't,_ I think as a lone, petulant tear slides down my face. Prim and I didn't starve to death on that miserably cold and rainy day in April, because the sweet, battered boy lying on the table behind me decided to help us, changing our world forever with two charred loaves of bread.

That's all it took. Those two loaves of bread provided the spark for me to keep going. They provided the spark for me to remember what my father had taught me about finding food in the forest. They provided the spark for me to survive, to _want_ to survive.

 _Just the smallest spark, can light the dark. That's how you change the world._

An old song that my father used to sing jumps into my head. It, like many others, was one he only would sing while in the depths of the forest, as he felt the lyrics were too seditious to be heard while at home or in Town.

 _It's the kind words  
A simple smile  
More than showing up  
Going the extra mile _

_It's giving everything  
When you've got nothing left  
Sharing a little hope  
With a single breath  
That's how you change the world _

"Katniss!" I hear from behind me, startling me from my thoughts. I turn to see Peeta fidgeting, trying to lift his head so he can see me. "Katniss? Where are you?"

"I'm here!" I say in a loud whisper, sweeping around the front of the table to take his hand, warming it between my own. I sit back onto my chair, crouching down to rest my chin on the hard, wooden surface. "I'm sorry. I was stoking the fire."

"You were singing," he says in a raspy voice. "I could hear you."

I gulp, my blood going cold at the thought of what President Snow would do to us if he heard me singing that song. "I'm sorry if I woke you." I brush a wayward curl off his forehead, leaning over to kiss the same spot. "You should try to get some more sleep."

He shakes his head, as well as he can while lying flat on a table. "No. I want you to sing some more for me. Please?"

A spike of fear stabs my heart, followed directly on its heels by a surge of protectiveness and anger. Fear is exactly what Snow wants me to feel right now. Well, if that's so, then I choose to be unafraid. If he wants me broken, I choose to be whole.

At least for right now, in this moment.

"How about I tell you a story instead?" I whisper. "Then I'll sing for you after, if you promise to try and get some more sleep."

He smiles, that radiant, beautiful smile that never fails to make my heart flutter, even if his lips are chapped and swollen and his face is as white as the falling snow. "You told me a story while we were in the cave, during the Games. Right? About Prim and her goat?

"That's right," I murmur. "You were so delirious with fever then I wasn't sure if you remembered it or not."

His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he squeezes my hand. "Of course I remember. I remember everything about you."

I get him some water first, soaking a washcloth and bringing it to his lips to drink from until he signals he's had enough.

"Okay," I say quietly. "My father told me this story when we were in the woods one day. It had started to rain all of a sudden, which wasn't too unusual, but this rain was accompanied by some of the strongest wind I'd ever seen. It was so harsh, whipping through the tops of the trees and scattering leaves and branches about, that he grabbed me and made a run for that little stone cabin by the lake. We managed to get there in the nick of time, for a large tree keeled over and hit the ground nearby only a couple minutes later."

Peeta's blue eyes widen, losing some of their tortured, pained look. "What kind of storm was it?"

"My dad called it a hurricane," I say. "He said it was a type of storm that forms in the oceans. I remember being frightened, but he kept reassuring me that we were too far away from the ocean to be in that much danger. It was only that we were stuck in the woods that was so scary."

"Your father was brave," Peeta whispers. "Like you."

I shake my head, my throat tightening as I stare into the licking flames in the fireplace. "No. I'm not the one who took a flogging yesterday that he didn't deserve."

Peeta wrinkles his nose. "Stop," he says. "We're not talking about that anymore. You're supposed to be telling me a story, remember?"

I shift on the chair, squeezing his hand. "Yeah."

"So, you were in the cabin… " he prompts.

"We were in the cabin," I repeat. "And we were stuck there for almost two days due to the high winds. We had food to eat, and bottles to catch rainwater, so we weren't in too much danger. We just had to wait it out." I smile, remembering how my father made me a bed of leaves by the fireplace in the tiny cabin. "It wasn't too different from a blizzard, now that I think about it. Only with rain instead of snow."

I pause, taking a deep breath as I think about how to proceed. The story my father told me during that storm he called a hurricane would probably be considered treasonous by President Snow.

But I'm choosing to be whole. I'm choosing to not fear.

Peeta's hand twitches in my own. "Katniss?"

"Way back, centuries ago," I begin, keeping my voice low. "Way back before Panem even existed, there were several pieces of land in the ocean that were called the Caribbean. Many of these islands, as they were called, were popular places for people to visit, on vacations."

"Like when people in the Capitol visit the old Hunger Games arenas?" Peeta asks.

I grimace. "Yeah, something like that. My father told me that huge boats used to pick up these people from where they lived and take them to these islands. Once there, the vacationers would spend all their money, eating in restaurants and taking in shows and other types of entertainment. Dad said it was how most of the people who lived on the islands earned their living."

"Hmm," Peeta says. "That sounds like fun. I'll bet our bakery would do well in a place like that."

I smile, thinking of Peeta's magnificent cakes and pastries being sold to vacationers while they watch lines of dancers or shop for expensive clothing. "Yeah. I think you're right."

"So?" Peeta says. "What else?"

I take a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. "Well, during certain months of the year there was a risk of these big storms, the hurricanes, hitting the islands. Some years there weren't any and the islands were fine. But other years, the storms would hit, causing damage to homes and businesses. And, if a storm was in the area, there would be no way for the big boats to get any vacationers to the islands until it blew over and the damaged areas were repaired. So, people who relied on providing entertainment for their livelihood couldn't earn any money until the boats started to arrive again."

Peeta's eyes narrow. "But, they would get help, wouldn't they? If they needed it?"

I feel the scowl on my face. "Not often enough." I lift Peeta's hand, kissing his knuckles. "My father told me that one year, one of the islands ended up getting hit with a hurricane that was so powerful, the entire island lost electricity for several months. There was little food and water, and floods covered most of the land so nobody could move around easily." I stop for a moment as my throat tightens.

"Peeta," I continue in a whisper. "My father told me that the people in power at the time, the government, chose not to do all they could to help them. All those people, who were asking for only the simplest of supplies, food and water and shelters that weren't flooded out or covered in mold… so many people got sick or died because no one would go the extra mile for them. The island never completely recovered, both because of the storm itself and the damage left behind, and because of the lost income from the vacationers who never came back." I turn again to stare at the fire. "The people were basically abandoned. Once their entertainment potential went away, they were abandoned. Just like that."

Peeta's quiet for a moment. "Now we have the Hunger Games," he murmurs. "Entertaining the select few at the expense of the many, and climate controlled so no need to worry about the weather."

My head snaps back to look at him, another stab of fear piercing my heart. "Yes. Now we have the Hunger Games. To entertain the select few at the expense of the many. No matter how many people starve to death or get killed when a coal mine explodes, the Games still go on."

Hot tears sting my eyes yet again and I turn away, not wanting Peeta to see them. He's worried enough already about my well-being, I don't need to be adding to it. Now is the time for me to be strong for him, so he can heal.

But he seems to have other ideas. "We need to go the extra mile," he says as he tugs on my hand. I turn to him, seeing a determination in his blue eyes that even surpasses my own. "We need to look after the people who need our help, Katniss. We're Victors. We need to stand up for them."

 _We need to provide a spark that can light the dark._

" _That's how you change the world,"_ I murmur.

Peeta nods. "Yes."

A thought occurs to me. "In the Capitol, at the President's party… what you said…"

He nods again. "Yes, Katniss." He tugs on my hand again, indicating for me to come closer so he can whisper in my ear. "President Snow is afraid of us. He came to see me before the Victory Tour because he's afraid of us, afraid of the influence we have. He's afraid of things he can't control."

My heart flutters in my chest. "It's why he had you flogged. To teach us a lesson. To try and show us that he's still in control."

"Yes," Peeta agrees. "And it's probably gonna get even worse before anything good happens. But we can do it, Katniss. We can be the spark."

I shiver, tightening the blanket around my shoulders as his words wash over me. He's right. Like it or not, we have become a symbol of strength to all of Panem. Peeta and I forced the Gamemakers' hands in our arena, and now President Snow is desperate to use our victory to keep the districts subdued, when it's obvious to almost everyone that it's doing the exact opposite.

 _Just the smallest spark, can light the dark. That's how you change the world._

I run my fingers through his hair. "You need to sleep now," I whisper, pressing a light kiss to his nose. "You promised."

"Not quite yet," he says. "You didn't finish the story. Did you and your dad get through that storm okay?"

"Yes," I answer, smiling. How Peeta can get me to smile under the most difficult of circumstances is still astonishing to me. "I'm sitting here, aren't I?"

"How long were you stuck out in the woods again?"

"Only for two days," I reply. "My mother and Prim were worried when we got back, and we were really lucky that my father didn't lose his job since he missed a day of work. But we were okay. Everything was okay."

His hand tightens around mine, bringing it to his lips. "I'm glad."

I kiss his forehead before reaching for the morphling vial and syringe. "It's time for you to sleep now."

This time Peeta doesn't protest, the pain in his flayed back finally winning over his determination to stay awake. He winces as I inject him with the painkilling drug, and a few seconds later his eyelids grow heavy. "You promised you'd sing for me," he murmurs as his eyes close. "Please?"

Taking his hand, I lay my head down on the table next to him. "Okay."

" _It's giving everything  
When you've got nothing left  
Sharing a little hope  
With a single breath  
That's how you change the world."_

He's asleep before I finish the third line. I brush his hair away from his forehead and kiss his hand as I close my own eyes, trying to catch some sleep myself before he wakes up again.

 _We can be the spark that lights the dark. We can change the world._

 **Song Reference:  
** **That's How You Change the World by Newsboys**

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 _ **I hope you enjoyed this piece! Please let me know what you thought by leaving me a review! :)**_


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